


Under Lock and Key

by feralratdad



Series: the other side of paradise [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Character studies, Dream Smp, Everyone is going through it, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Okay maybe a little comfort, Traitor Toby Smith | Tubbo, mentions of Wilbur and Schlatt, more Minecraft angst, president Quackity, this is a sequel you will not understand anything unless you read the first fic first, villain Tubbo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:16:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27509710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralratdad/pseuds/feralratdad
Summary: Tommy's the one person who can ruin them, Tubbo and Quackity and everything they have. He's the only one who knows their secret, so they best keep him under lock and key. Because as soon as he's out of here, he's going to shout it from the rooftops, and then the whole world will know just what kind of people their leaders really are.---a series of character studies under the new presidential term of Quackity and Tubbo, and the secret they must keep at all costs.[sequel-ish to As the World Caves In; you should probably read that first :)]
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Series: the other side of paradise [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010454
Comments: 125
Kudos: 395





	1. Tommy | solitude sometimes is best society

**Author's Note:**

> ...surprise? :P I'm sure anyone keeping up with As the World Caves In probably saw me talk about a possible character centric sequel, either in the notes or in replies to comments. Well, I've been working on it on and off between writing my newest MCYT fic, and I'm happy to finally be able to post it! :D
> 
> So this isn't exactly a sequel in the sense of sequels. I did like the open ending of ATWCI, and I didn't want to mess with that too much, but I did want to explore the new dynamic that would come after that fic! Every chapter is going to act as sort of a 'one shot' type thing, with the focus/POV of a certain character and how they're sort of handling the aftermath of the festival and the new president. I've got loads of both old and new faces set to star, and it's been a lot of fun to write! :D Though there's no real timeline here, I think it's safe to assume the chapters are set in chronological order, so you can sort of follow the minor connections.
> 
> Anyways, that's enough out of me :P If you're here from ATWCI, thank you so much for your continued support! :D I hope you all have a wonderful day, and enjoy <33

Prison is cold, lonely, awful, boring, maddening, and tiring. Tommy's had a lot of time to think about adjectives to describe his current situation. Horrible, terrible, ugly, small, cramped, uncomfortable.

Or maybe he hasn't had a lot of time. Truth be told, he doesn't know how long he's been here, left to rot and pay for someone else's crimes. Time has no meaning within these iron bars, and even his meals arrive irregularly. It seems like this entire place is designed to make him go absolutely crazy.

Though maybe that's the point, he figures as he leans against one of the stone walls, tipping his head back to stare up at the stone ceiling. Maybe they wanted him to break. After all, if he went nuts, their secret would be safe forever. No one would listen to the mad ravings of a lunatic, especially one saying the newest president and vice of Manberg had murdered former President Schlatt.

_ Tubbo and Quackity _ . Sometimes, to stay entertained, Tommy imagines their faces on the wall and punches it. It bloodies and bruises his knuckles, but he doesn't care. Every solid  _ crack _ of his fist against the wall lets his burning desire for vengeance be quelled, at least for a little while.

Tubbo's bright smile. _ Crack _ . Tubbo's cheerful laugh.  _ Crack _ . Tubbo sprawled out on the ground, cackling maniacally and urging Tommy to kill him.  _ Crack _ .

God, this was horrible. Tommy doesn't want to think about Tubbo. But he'd rather think about Tubbo than about Wilbur-  _ Wilbur's charred corpse on the ground, Wilbur's jacket smelling of smoke and ash, Wilbur detonating the bombs _ \- and he doesn't have anything to do besides think anyways. Think and plan. Plot and wait.

If only someone would come visit him. Niki, Fundy- hell, even that bastard Eret. All he would need is one person to listen, and he could tell them the truth about what happened the night of the festival.

Besides, he's lonely. At this point, he wouldn't even mind if Tubbo came back to taunt him. At least then things wouldn't be so quiet and horrible. He hasn't seen his former friend since his first and only visit after the festival, and he half wonders if he scared him off. At the time, he'd been so full of fury it was all too easy to bark out threats he had every intention of carrying out. Now, though, he wishes he'd minded his tongue, if only so Tubbo had a reason to come back. Tommy just hadn't expected to feel so alone, after the rage and sorrow burned away into empty numbness.

He would've resorted to begging, probably, if only there was someone to beg to. But no one ever came near his cell, and his meals were dropped to him from some complex redstone machinery Tubbo would probably love to explain to him. Tommy figures it's because Quackity wants to keep him isolated, so the secret he knows stays rotting inside the cell along with him.

Sometimes he wonders what Wilbur would think of him. Well, Wilbur isn't here to think anything anymore, so that burden is left to Tommy. The days repeat themselves, over and over again, long hours of silence stretched thin and weighing on his shoulders, heavy enough to crush him.

The only good thing about being alone is that there's no one to watch him cry.

And then miraculously, one day, there he is again. It's  _ Tubbo _ , shoes clicking against the stone ground, with his perfectly ironed suit and perfectly straight tie. He looks... Well, tired is the only way Tommy can think to describe him. But despite his hollow, faded eyes, there's a wide smile plastered across his face, and it's convincing enough. Despite how much he hates the boy in front of him, despite how much he longs to reach through the bars and strangle the life out of him, Tommy can't help but lean forward in hopeful anticipation at the sweet sight of company.

"What do you want?" he spits out, words all too eagerly slipping off his tongue.

He's almost positive Tubbo can tell just how desperate he is, just how much this cell is destroying him. Manberg's new Vice President chuckles, shaking his head. "Why do I have to want something to visit an old friend? I just came to check to make sure you're still alive. It would be very awkward for us all if you ended up dying while locked out of sight from everyone in Manberg."

Tommy forces himself to dial it down, to not rush in headfirst and take the bait. "Maybe I should die, then, just to make your life a little bit harder."

"I know you're too stubborn for that, Tommy. You won't let yourself die until you get your revenge." Tubbo sighs, almost disappointedly. "Such a perfect hero. It'll be hard to do that from behind bars, though."

"You think I'll be in here for long? Just you wait," Tommy scoffs, leaning his head back against the cold, grey wall. "Sooner or later, someone's gonna be asking questions. Niki's gonna want to visit me-"

Tubbo interrupts him with a sharp laugh. "Niki thinks you're a crazed terrorist."

His words are enough to stun Tommy into silence, at least momentarily. Scrambling to recover, he hurries out, "Well, Technoblade-"

"Do you really think that guy is going to come for you? All he cares about is anarchy and violence. If he hasn't rescued you by now, why would he bother?"

_ "Someone!"  _ Tommy bursts out, nearly a scream. "Someone is going to come! Dream or Eret or Fundy! Someone's- someone's going to... to......"

And god, he hates how easy it is for Tubbo to make him cry. For Tubbo to reduce him to this, nothing more than a pathetic child who can't control his emotions. Burying his face into his knees, drawn against his chest, Tommy sobs uncontrollably, shame only making him cry harder.

It was so easy for Tubbo to break him. He hates it, but he can't stop it. He wants to smash his fist against his face, he wants to curse him out, he wants to scream-

He wants his best friend back.

Somewhere in another life, Tubbo would've pulled him into his arms and ran his fingers through his hair, murmuring soft comforts. He would've made jokes until Tommy's tears turned to laughter, and they were both giggling until their sides hurt. The moment would pass, and they'd never speak of it again, because that was their understanding. No one was supposed to know this side of Tommy existed; he was meant to be the perfect soldier, the perfect hero. So during the moments when he broke down, Tubbo was always there to carefully reassemble the pieces and put him back together good as new.

The Tubbo facing him through the bars does none of that. He's the one who broke him, the one who scattered the pieces across the floor and crushed them beneath his polished heel. There's not a single bit of concern in this Tubbo's eyes.

"I guess this visit did you more harm than good," is all he says, studying him with an unconcerned gaze. "I'll leave you to it, then." He turns around, and the sight of his back sends a stab of panic straight through Tommy's heart.

"Don't go," he gasps out, unable to stop himself, and he reaches out a frantic hand.  _ "Please." _

Tubbo pauses, almost like he's actually considering it. Tommy's heart skips a hopeful beat, and he holds his breath. Then Tubbo continues without so much as a farewell, disappearing up the long flight of cobble stairs.

Alone again.

Time blurs together once more, the silence dragging on and chilling his heart and his bones. Tommy sleeps, he wakes, he leans against the wall and thinks, and he sleeps some more. Maybe it would've been better to die like Wilbur. At least that would've spared him from this fate.  _ Lucky bastard,  _ he finds himself thinking, then immediately regrets it as guilt floods his stomach, making him so sick he nearly throws up. What a horrible, awful thought, that Wilbur was the lucky one.

"If you were here, you wouldn't have given up hope," Tommy says out loud, staring at the ceiling through half lidded eyes. "You would've done something real good..."

_ "Probably _ ," the ghost of Wilbur's voice replies, merely a distant memory. " _ Not much we can do about that now." _

Tommy nearly chokes on a sob, but he's too exhausted to cry anymore. "I miss you," he croaks. "I miss Tubbo. Don't... please don't leave..."

Wilbur is awfully silent.

"Tommy?"

A new voice breaks him from the haze of nothingness. Tommy starts in surprise; he doesn't even know how long it's been, how long he's been sitting here, how long he'd been asleep. There's a shadow by the bars, a figure standing imposingly behind them. For a moment, Tommy deliriously thinks it's Wilbur, come to carry him away from here.

Instead, he soon sees as his vision clears, it's just Quackity, holding a plate of food and staring down at him in concern.

"The fuck do you want?" Tommy spits out.

"Nothing." Quackity's face immediately morphs into a scowl, and he slides the food through the bars. "Just thought you might enjoy some company."

"Fuck off."

"That's pretty mean," Quackity replies with a frown, folding his arms. "The last time I saw you, you were considering killing my best friend, so honestly you should be grateful I'm even here."

"Last time I saw you, you were arresting me for a crime you committed," Tommy snaps back. "And what the hell do you mean, best friend?"

"Tubbo, duh, who else?"

All it takes is that one name to shock him into silence. Tommy drops his chin back down on his knees, refusing to look up. Fuck this. Fuck all of this. He doesn't- he doesn't need Tubbo. He  _ hates _ Tubbo. His best friend, his right hand man, the boy who had killed Wilbur.

Quackity releases a long sigh, and Tommy can hear his feet shuffle. "Look, I've got a busy schedule, so I've gotta head out soon. Do you wanna talk, or...?"

"Y'know, Big Q," Tommy murmurs, and Quackity perks up just a bit. "There was a time when we were friends."

"...yeah?"

"That time ended when you decided to help Tubbo kill Wilbur," Tommy spits out, unsuppressed fury lacing his tone. "So if you think you can come in here and chat it up like nothing happened, you're fucking wrong! If I ever see your face again, I swear to god I'll kill you."

Quackity goes quiet for a long moment, then he says, "Geez, now that's just rude. Who taught you manners? Enjoy prison then, I guess."

This time, he won't beg. Not to Quackity, and not to anyone else ever again. As he listens to the footsteps receding, every thud against the ground almost physically painful, Tommy exhales a shaky breath and resolves himself once more. He's going to get out of here, and then he's going to kill them, everyone who'd done this. Maybe he'll blow them all up, like Wilbur had wanted to. Wouldn't that be fitting? Or perhaps Techno would help him, diving right into the carnage and doing things by hand. Tommy doesn't care how they do it, as long as he gets to wipe the self satisfied smirk off of Tubbo's face.

Maybe he doesn't have his friends anymore, but that's okay, he's okay. He's already alone here, so why not be alone outside of here, with blood on his hands and the vengeance burning in his heart satisfied?

He's the one person who can ruin them, Tubbo and Quackity and everything they have. He's the only one who knows their secret, so they best keep him under lock and key. Because as soon as he's out of here, he's going to shout it from the rooftops, and then the whole world will know just what kind of people their leaders really are.

Knowing that is enough to keep him going, for now. That he's the key to their destruction, that he holds the detonator to the bombs. So until then, until he can taste the fresh air and feel the sun warm his skin again, Tommy falls back asleep in the cold comfort of silence and solitude.


	2. Quackity | in his shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, Quackity, I always told you you weren't fit to lead," Schlatt gives a sad hum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god you guys never cease to blow me away with your comments and encouragement :DDD thank you all so much! <3 I could honestly go on for ages about how grateful I am, but have another chapter instead :P <333

The cup of coffee resting on Quackity's desk has long since grown cold, unfinished as the dusk sun sets through the window. Tubbo had made it for him that morning, delivering it into his office with a bright, shining smile.

"You're not my assistant," Quackity had scoffed teasingly. "You don't have to do this shit."

"Yeah, but I'm your friend!" Tubbo replied, setting the mug before him. "Drink up and stay fueled! But also stay hydrated. And don't forget to eat lunch. I packed yours and left it in the fridge-"

"Tubbo." Quackity looked up at him with a soft grin, holding up a hand to cut him off. "Thank you. I'll take care of myself."

What a lie that had been. The lunch Tubbo had mentioned sits untouched downstairs, and he certainly hadn't drank any water. Hell, he'd only taken a sip or two of the coffee before abandoning it in favor of rigorously pouring over his work. It had been like this for the past week, which was probably why Tubbo was starting to hover and fret and do silly (but much appreciated) things like make him lunch or bring him coffee. He'd barely left his office, often falling asleep in his desk chair and waking to Tubbo chastising him and asking if he was alright.

Who would've guessed that being the president was... Well, so much work? Schlatt had done it all with a practiced ease, never once breaking a sweat. Or maybe he'd just been great at hiding it. Quackity wasn't anything like the man- his weariness shows in the bags beneath his eyes and his slumped shoulders. He only ever attempts to act composed when Tubbo is around, not wanting to worry the boy who'd become like a little brother further.

There was paperwork to do, buildings to set in order, borders to protect. And of course, he had to undo all the harm Schlatt had done to the country- lower Niki's taxes, resort the cabinet, figure out what to do about the still looming threat of Pogtopia. And on top of that, there was the secret he desperately needed to keep, the secret that could throw both him and Tubbo out of power in an instant. Keep Tommy locked away in prison, stop him from receiving visitors, make up lie after lie after lie.

The position of president and the power that came with it was all he'd ever wanted. He'd sacrificed so much for this, but it looked like he'd need to sacrifice even more. A short sigh escapes his lips, and he props one elbow on his desk, leaning his head on his hand. So much work left to finish up, and the sun was already descending. The words before him blur into a jumbled, meaningless mess, and a nap sounds quite appealing right about now.

"Tired already?" Schlatt asks, leaning against the window and examining his nails. "Pathetic, really."

"Shut up," Quackity mutters. He's too exhausted to argue with the man.

He doesn't know why Schlatt's been hanging around him in the first place, how he's even here since he'd died. A hallucination? A figment of his imagination? PTSD? A ghost come to haunt him? Quackity honestly could care less what he was, he just wished he'd fuck off. Schlatt was bad enough when he'd been alive, but somehow he was even worse now.

"Oh, Quackity, I always told you you weren't fit to lead," Schlatt gives a sad hum. "Look at you. You're already falling apart, and it's only been a few weeks."

"I'm not... falling apart," Quackity snorts like the idea is ridiculous, even as he feels his eyelids droop. "Just... taking a break."

"Aw, that's cute. You need me to sing you a lullaby while you're at it?" Schlatt mocks, rolling his eyes. "Pack your lunch?"

"Hey." Quackity sits up straight, alert and awake once more. "You can piss on me all you want, but leave Tubbo out of it. It's not our fault you've never had a friend to do nice things for you."

"And I'm better off for it," Schlatt replies, unimpressed. "I didn't have anyone to baby me, and I turned out far more successful than you'll ever be."

"You turned out dead, that's what- that's how you turned out. Dead."

"Eloquent as always, Quackity." Schlatt sounds amused if nothing else. "So you think just because you killed me, you're some big shot now? You can't hide your fears behind bravado and a terrible sense of humor forever. At some point, this country is going to realize just how absolutely unfit you are to be president."

Quackity slumps back over on the desk, putting his head between his hands. "I'm not gonna argue with a dead guy. Just stop."

"Or maybe before that happens, you'll end up dead just like me," Schlatt continues with a dry chuckle. "That Tubbo kid will do you in just like he did to me-"

He slams his fists down on the table, the mug rattling at the action. "I said shut up!" he shouts, something snapping inside him.

"Quackity?" a voice asks from outside, and Quackity freezes in place like a deer in the headlights. There's a tentative knock, and a moment later, the door creaks open, and Tubbo pokes his head in. "Um... are you alright?"

Sharply, Quackity turns his head back to the window, but Schlatt is gone. "Fine," he forces out, reaching up to readjust his beanie. "Just talking to myself."

Because wasn't that the truth? Whatever Schlatt was, wasn't he just Quackity's own doubts, own fears, manifested into something physical? He's scared, terrified even. Scared that he's going to let this country down, scared that Schlatt's final words to him were right, scared that he's not strong enough. And though he'd never admit it, refuses to admit it, deep down inside, he's scared of Tubbo. _"That Tubbo kid will do you in."_ Quackity had seen firsthand how easily the boy had grown corrupted, how easily he'd turned on his former best friend, how easily he'd taken up the role of manipulator. Even now, staring at the concern filling Tubbo's eyes, he can't help but shiver.

"I was about to head home," Tubbo says, an explanation no one asked for. He had a tendency to explain himself even when there was no real reason to. "You forgot your lunch," he adds, holding up his hand, and Quackity can see the brown paper bag clutched in it.

"Oh. Shit. Well, just... leave it here." He gestures vaguely at his desk, swallowing hard. "Sorry, it just slipped my mind."

Tubbo's brows furrow together, and he walks up to the desk, gently setting the bag down near him. "It 'slips your mind' a lot lately," he replies, biting his lip. "You should take a break. Let's go on a walk."

"Sorry, Big T. I just don't have time." Quackity shakes his head, glancing back down at his paperwork.

"You never have time," Tubbo mumbles, hugging his arms against his chest. Blinking in surprise, Quackity looks up at him, and the kid's eyes widen slightly. "O-oh, sorry, I didn't... I mean, I didn't mean..."

"Grab a seat, Tubs," Quackity says, motioning toward the chair on the other side of his desk. Tubbo hurriedly complies, perching awkwardly on the edge of it and folding his hands in his lap. "Hey, hey, don't look so... I dunno. Like _that_. Come on, let's just talk. What's on your mind?" 

"Umm... I just..." Tubbo's eyes wander everywhere around the office except to Quackity. "We just haven't really hung out in a while, you know? It's always... work, and meetings and things... You don't even take your lunch break. I... well, I miss you. I miss how we used to be."

At his words, Quackity feels his heart sink. Shit, he really had been a terrible friend, hadn't he? With all his work and presidential duties, he'd ended up pushing Tubbo aside, though it hadn't been on purpose. The kid probably felt neglected and used, just like he had under Wilbur and Schlatt.

With a small groan, Quackity runs a hand over his face. "Geez, Tubbo. I'm sorry. Shit... I've just been so busy. There's so much shit to sort out, and..." he trails off, his useless excuses doing nothing to help anyone. "You know you're like a brother to me, right?" he says finally. A rare moment of intimacy from him, and he hopes Tubbo will understand.

Tubbo stares at him, then he clears his throat. "Tommy said the same thing." Before Quackity could formulate a response, he hurriedly amends, "I- I know you're not like Tommy! I know that. I just... I mean, I miss you," he repeats, scratching at one ear. "It's great we're in charge and all that. But..." he trails off again, as if he hasn't even formed the thought himself.

"I miss you too, man," Quackity says, and he _does_. He misses the days before the festival, when they'd spend every free minute together even though they'd had to dodge around Schlatt. Back when he still had energy to joke and mess around, back before he'd found himself caught and stuck in Schlatt's shadow, haunting him even after death. He wishes he could put his feelings into words, wishes he could somehow explain his inner turmoil to his friend. But he can't; it barely makes sense to himself.

So instead he just says, "Let's do something soon. I'll- I'll knock all my work out tonight, and we can grab breakfast or something. Go to the bakery. I haven't seen Niki in a while."

Instead of happily agreeing, Tubbo furrows his brows with a frown. "No," he replies, voice firm and commanding. "How about instead of that, I walk you home and you actually get some sleep, and then we bring some paperwork to the bakery and help each other out?"

His voice leaves no room for argument, and Quackity can tell he won't take no for an answer. With a small groan, he shakes his head and leans back in his chair. "Well damn, you drive a hard bargain. If you insist, I guess."

"Great!" Tubbo beams, though he makes no move to stand. "We aren't leaving this office until I watch you eat that meal, though."

"Oh, come on," Quackity grumbles, and Tubbo's eyes narrow. "Okay, okay! Yes sir!" Obediently, he unwraps it, stomach growling at the thought of food.

The sun basks the two boys in its golden glow as they walk the wooden path toward Quackity's house, a bounce in Tubbo's step and a laugh on his lips. Quackity trudges after him, hands in his pockets, mouth curling upward in a smile. Under the light of the setting sun and the company of his best friend, Schlatt's shadow melts away if only for just a moment. And even though he knows he should be back at his office, laboring to fix this country, as he listens to Tubbo ramble away about the Roman empire, those worries all slip away to the back of his mind.

(And it turns out this whole sleep thing Tubbo's been bugging him about is actually pretty good.)

*****

When he wakes up, Schlatt is waiting for him.

"No time to sleep in." The former president looks down at him with a scoff. "Come on, let's get a move on. I would've already been done with half the work for today."

And thus the week repeats itself in an endless, tireless loop.


	3. Eret | a meeting with the mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, just as Eret feels like he's about to suffocate in the silence, the boy swallows hard before asking quietly, "Did it feel good? When you betrayed us?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the characters that didn't get much mention in the previous fic was Eret, though I had been considering him as a major character during the planning. Unfortunately, that never happened, so getting to write from his perspective now was pretty fun! :D I'd always thought Eret and Tubbo would have an interesting dynamic in this plotline, being regretful traitor and proud traitor, and it was interesting to try to capture that vibe in such a short piece :) 
> 
> Thank you all so so much for all the comments and love! :D I hope you all have a lovely day, and enjoy! <3

The White House isn't a gorgeous building by any means. It's certainly nothing like his castle, or any of his other structures, but Eret can't help but admire it anyways. There's a sense of dignity about it, like someone had built it with great pride and joy. As Eret climbs the hill it sits on, grass and dirt no doubt staining his polished shoes, he decides this place is clearly loved. That's what matters most in a build, more than how good it looks or how grand it is. That earns it respect in his eyes.

Standing at the dark oak doors, he briefly wonders if he should knock. He doesn't know much about Manberg etiquette, even though he'd been one of the original founders. Briefly, he loses himself to a time when he might've been one of the occupants in this building, but it's a short lived daydream. That could never happen, not after his betrayal, after Wilbur's death, after all the chaos that had slipped in between.

Eret pushes open the door.

Inside, he finds the halls empty. No doubt everyone here is in their offices, hard at work. He does a quick sweep of the entrance to look for a secretary or a map, and when he finds none, he determines he's got to find the right office himself. With a small sigh, Eret sets off, heels clicking sharply against the shining floors. It's hard not to feel out of place here, in this quaint little building while dressed in his kingly grandeur. He wonders if he should've gone for something more casual, but then decides appearances are the least of his worries. After all, he doubts the person he's meeting with cares that much about things like that anyways.

It had been surprisingly hard to secure a meeting here, though he supposes it makes sense that everyone would be extra busy since the festival and power shifts. President Quackity had been completely unavailable, but that was fine, since he's not the official Eret was looking to have a sit down with. After numerous back and forth correspondence, though, a date and time had finally been settled upon, and here he was now, right on his way and hoping he wasn't running too late.

At last, he finds it- the office he's been hunting for. The nameplate on the door reads the official's title in crisp, bold letters:  _ Vice President _ . Eret stalls in front of it, his fist raised hesitantly to knock but finding himself unable to just yet.

God, it's been so long since he's seen the boy behind this door. The last time they'd been on speaking terms had been all the way back during the revolution, long before the elections and Schlatt and everything that had gone wrong. After his betrayal, Wilbur had been swift to turn the entire country on him, and could Eret really blame the founder for that? Suddenly, he feels so very tired, and he half wants to turn around and head back home, to collapse into his bed and hide away from this confrontation.

But no, he's made his choices, and now the world moves forward, dragging him along with it. He doesn't have time to rewind, and he barely has any time to keep up. So instead of dwelling on it any further, he raps his knuckles against the door and waits for an answer.

Soon, a muffled voice from inside chirps, "Come right in!"

Eret steps through the doorway, and before he knows it, he's staring at  _ him _ . The last time he'd seen Tubbo, he'd been nothing more than a young scrappy boy, hungry for revolution and the glory that came with it. There had been light in his eyes, a fire burning with life. The Tubbo he's looking at now is so incredibly different, it nearly gives him whiplash. The Vice President of Manberg sits straight in his seat with his hands folded on the desk, a practiced smile on his lips that does nothing to hide his dull gaze and hollow eyes. There isn't a single wrinkle in his suit, a vast contrast to his normally dirtied and torn clothing. For a moment, Eret thinks he's a robot, or at least some cardboard cutout. Because this isn't  _ Tubbo _ ; not the Tubbo he remembers.

"Eret! I'm so glad you could make it," Tubbo says brightly, seemingly unaware of Eret's shock. "Please, have a seat." He gestures vaguely toward one of the two chairs opposite his own seat, and Eret automatically obeys, settling himself down uncertainly.

"It's been a while," Tubbo continues, and Eret tries not to wince. "You were at the festival, weren't you? I don't think we got a chance to talk."

"Uh, yeah. I was," Eret responds cautiously. "It was a real lovely event, by the way. I heard you were in charge of it?"

"Me and Quackity, yeah," Tubbo responds with another smile. "Thank you, though! I'm glad you enjoyed it while it lasted."

Eret clears his throat, trying his best not to think about the explosion, the smoke, the ringing in his ears. "Right."

"So, what brings you here? You weren't too specific over the communicator, so I hope it's nothing too important," Tubbo jokes, though Eret catches the slight nervousness in his voice.

"Oh, no, nothing important," Eret quickly confirms. "I just... I don't know. I suppose I just wanted to check in. Like you said, it's been a while."

Tubbo's shoulders relax ever so slightly. "If you just wanted a catch-up, we could've gone down to Niki's bakery or something," he offers readily. "No need for the office setting."

"No, I wanted to catch you privately," Eret replies. As much as he loved Niki, this wasn't a conversation he wanted to have around her. "I just... Well, how are you?" he finally asks, biting his lip.

"I'm doing quite well! Things have been pretty busy, but-"

"Tubbo, I'm asking how  _ you're _ doing," Eret interrupts. "Not how the Vice President of Manberg is doing. How  _ Tubbo _ is doing. After everything that happened, I doubt you're 'doing quite well'."

He barely dares to breathe as Tubbo blinks in surprise, clearly taken aback. To his credit, the boy immediately regains his composure, straightening once more. "I really am fine, Eret. I appreciate the concern, though I'm not really sure where it's coming from, but I'm alright."

"So you're not... shaken up? About Wilbur? About  _ Tommy _ ?" Eret can't bring himself to believe it. "You two were practically joined at the hip, and now he's in jail for a terrorist attack? I doubt you're okay with all this, and I'm... Well, I guess I'm worried." He tries not to fidget in his seat, though his skin itches like its on fire. God, this is awkward, but dammit, he knows he should be here for the kid. It's the least he can do. "You lost all your friends, everyone you had, and I know how that feels, in a way." He cringes a bit. "So... If you need anything, or you want to talk about it, I'm here."

Tubbo, luckily, sits in silence as he rambles on. He's still silent even as he finishes, and he's silent for a few moments after that. Something flickers in his eyes, though Eret can't tell what. At last, just as Eret feels like he's about to suffocate in the silence, the boy swallows hard before asking quietly, "Did it feel good? When you betrayed us?"

"What?" Eret nearly falls out of his chair, his heart catching in his throat. There's no hostility in Tubbo's tone, though; it sounds like a genuine question. There's nothing but curiosity in the boy's gaze, and maybe something a little darker. Clearing his throat, he shifts a bit, wracking his brain for an answer. "No," he says at last. "It didn't. It just felt... awful. There was no victory in anything I had done."

"Oh." Tubbo seems almost disappointed in his response, and he leans back in his chair. "Listen, Eret, I really appreciate the offer. I'm glad we can move past our differences and reconcile and all that. But honestly, I'm fine. It... hurt a lot, at first, but I think things turned out for the best in the end." Abruptly, as if someone had flipped a light switch to change the mood, he gives a bright, shining grin and waves a hand around the office. "I mean, look at this place! We're getting so much good done for Manberg. And I didn't lose  _ all _ my friends. I've found people who really care about me now."

"That's... good." Eret decides not to poke the bee's nest any longer, relenting to Tubbo's insistence that things are fine despite the fact that they shouldn't be. Wilbur was dead, Tommy's in jail, Tubbo had nearly been killed in a bombing- But sure, everything was okay.

Maybe those are just the lies they tell themselves so they can sleep at night. Because truth be told, when Eret looks at Tubbo, he doesn't see the rough and tumble revolutionary. He sees himself, alone in his palace with everything he'd wanted but missing everything important. Eret usually prided himself on being cool and composed, on being above it all, but none of that was really him. It was a shield against the world, a shield against himself, and he sees Tubbo building that same shield right now before his eyes.

"I wish I could go back," he bursts out before he can stop himself. Tubbo tenses visibly, shoulders and posture stiffening. "And fix everything I'd done. But I can't change the past, all I can do is try to impact the future. I hope that maybe one day, I can make up for all the hurt I've caused. So trust me, Tubbo, this isn't a path you want to go down. If you have people who care about you, stick close with them. Nothing is ever worth losing that."

"...thank you, Eret," Tubbo replies distantly, as if he's not really present in the moment. "I will."

He seems more like a ghost than anything else, and Eret's surprised at how quickly the atmosphere in the room had shifted, at how easily Tubbo had slipped from a confident Vice President to this hollow shell. He decides this is his cue to leave, so he pushes himself to his feet. Tubbo doesn't react at all. "Thanks for meeting with me," he says politely. "I know you've probably got a busy schedule."

"It's no problem," Tubbo responds after a beat of silence, almost as an afterthought. "I'm always free for an old friend."

"Take care of yourself. Make sure you don't get overworked. And if you ever need me, I'll always be in your corner," Eret promises. He pauses, then adds before he can lose his nerve, "Would it be possible for me to visit Tommy?"

Instantly, Tubbo is alert once more, jerking up straight in his chair. "No," he blurts, then repeats more calmly, "No, sorry. No one's allowed to see him, he's been deemed too dangerous."

Eret's brows furrow together, and a small frown tugs at his lips. Where was this strange attitude coming from all of a sudden? "Really? Have you visited him at all?"

"A few times," Tubbo responds, hugging his arms against his chest. "...he's gone completely crazy. If he ever gets out, he said he's going to kill me."

Eret sucks in a sharp breath at that. "Holy shit. God, I can't even imagine... None of this makes sense." What the hell had happened to make Tommy say something like that? The two boys had always been inseparable, practically joined at the hip. He can't picture a world in which Tommy and Tubbo were enemies rather than brothers, but here they were, apparently. It doesn't sit right with him at all.

"Believe me, I know," Tubbo mumbles. "Don't worry, though, it isn't your problem. We're sorting this mess out."

"You're real strong, Tubbo." Eret offers him what he hopes is a comforting smile. "Keep your head up and stay safe. I think you'll make a great Vice President for Manberg."

Tubbo smiles right back at him. "Thank you, Eret. It means a lot. You take care, and have a safe trip back!"

He waves enthusiastically as Eret departs, and for a moment, Eret sees the happy kid with the shining eyes from the revolution again. He hopes he'll be okay, whatever happens next. And he hopes that Tommy stays in jail for a long, long time.


	4. Niki | the warmth of the hearth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Niki." Tubbo cuts her off, voice dangerously dark. "If you step foot anywhere near that prison, you'll be arrested on the grounds of conspiracy against the government."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Niki is one of the more prominent characters featured in ATWCI, and I've always wanted to get into her head and figure out how she's feeling about all this. So... Umm, I guess it's no surprise this chapter turned out double the length I had planned it to be :P Niki supremacy, what can I say? There's just so much more to unpack with her than most characters because we never did get a POV snippet from her previously :D
> 
> I hope you're all doing well! I seriously mean it when I say all your comments and encouragement keeps me going, it always makes me so happy to hear what you all have to say :D Have a wonderful day, and enjoy! <33

Something Niki's realized by now is that people don't pay attention to her. No one gives the baker a second glance, no one questions her presence. They certainly don't register the way she listens, the way she observes, the way she notices.

And she notices a lot of things, because she's grown good at figuring people out. She notices the dark circles beneath Quackity's eyes, notices the way his feet drag when he walks, notices how he jumps at shadows. She notices the distant look Tubbo always has, notices how sometimes he'll go dead silent, as if he's completely slipped away from the moment, notices the way his words have a strangely dangerous edge to them, like they're weapons for him to wield.

She worries about them, because she cares about them, but she would never try to pry. All she knows is something is different since the festival, and it's hurting her friends. She senses it on the rare occasions they enter her bakery, usually alone by themself, the other busy with work at the office. Tubbo stops by in the mornings, usually, for breakfast. He's normally happy to strike up a conversation with her, and he laughs and smiles the same as he always does, but she knows it's _different_. When Quackity comes, it's always later at night. He's more quiet, exhausted from a long day of labor, but he's always sure to compliment her baking and ask how she's doing. She likes that about him, that he cares for his citizens and especially his friends. But something about it feels wrong, and it eats away at her gut though she can't sort it out.

She tries to ask Tubbo about it, once, because her intuition has never misguided her before. It's an early morning, the sun just beginning its ascent into the sky, and the Vice President is perched on the ledge of the counter, shoving a pastry into his mouth. Niki turns to face him, dusting flour off her apron, and chooses her words carefully.

"Is everything alright at the White House?" she questions, and Tubbo freezes, blinking owlishly at her.

"Umm... yeah, I think so. Why?" he furrows his brows together, a strange look in his eyes.

"Is Quackity doing well?" she asks instead of answering.

"I dunno." Tubbo scratches his ear with his free hand. "I think he's overworking himself. I've tried to help, but... I don't think I'm doing much."

Niki's not surprised by the answer. She can tell just by looking at the president that he's trying to do too much in a short span of time, carrying the weight of all of Manberg's problems on his weary shoulders. "He needs to slow down," she chides, tucking a loose strand of hair behind one ear. "Or he's going to burn himself out."

"Well, he won't listen to me, so maybe he'll listen to you," Tubbo scoffs, a hint of bitterness slipping into his tone. He pauses, then adds, "Sorry. I'm not... _mad_ at him. I'm just worried. It's real awful, you know? To watch it happen all over again.

"What happen?"

"Losing a friend," the boy mumbles, kicking his legs aimlessly back and forth.

Niki frowns, and her heart aches at the sight of her friend looking miserable like this. She wishes she could do something to relieve the burden from him, from Quackity, to lift it off and carry it somewhere far away. They're _young_ , so young, far too young to be running a country. It isn't right, and it hurts her to watch. "I don't know much about... politics," she says gently. "But I know Quackity, and I know he cares about you so, so much. You won't lose him, and you definitely won't lose me. I'm not going to let anything else happen to you."

To her surprise, rather than comforting him, her words seem to only make him worse off. Tubbo averts his gaze, picking absently at the sugary dust coating his pastry. "I should get going," he says, clearing his throat. "Thanks for breakfast, Niki."

It only serves to confuse her more, and once again, that sense of wrongness twists in her stomach.

Sometimes, Niki thinks about Tommy. The last time she had seen the boy, he'd been crouching over Wilbur's body, terrified and broken. She'd been scared too, too scared to stop him as he marched off toward the White House, swearing revenge. Apparently, he had gotten it, but now he was locked out of reach in jail. Tommy was Wilbur's accomplice in the bombing, Quackity had announced to the country when he'd been sworn in as president. It didn't match up with what Niki had seen the night of the festival, the confused and sobbing kid who'd just lost his older brother, but she had no choice but to believe him. Why would her friends lie about that to her?

Quackity had denied her when she requested a visit to the prison. "He's too dangerous," he'd said. "I'm sorry, Niki, but it's for everyone's safety."

She wonders what harm a sixteen year old behind bars could possibly do.

The bakery is livelier than it's been in months, thanks to Schlatt's passing. All sorts of people come to find the warmth and comfort her business has to offer through bright laughter and delicious baked goods. Eret usually stops by to help her during shifts, accepting no payment despite her insistence. She knows it's because he wants to make things up to her, though he's never said it out loud. It's just one of those things that's obvious to her. She's glad for his company, glad to have a friend by her side through this time of change.

It's on one afternoon that a surprising face shows up, one she hasn't seen for quite some time. Fundy, with his hands shoved into his pockets and his shoulders hunched tensely. He glances around as if nervous, eyes flitting from the few customers scattered around tables to Niki behind the counter.

"Hey, Niki," he greets at last.

The last real interaction she'd had with the fox, he'd been burning down her flag and swearing allegiance to Schlatt. Since then, she'd been avoiding him like the plague, unable to look him in the eyes. How could someone turn on their country and friends that fast? Though, she sometimes figures, hadn't Wilbur done the same when he decided to rig the festival with TNT? (but she doesn't like to think about Wilbur, doesn't like to think about the manic glint in his eyes as he shoved Tubbo to the ground and held up the detonator-)

"Hi, Fundy," she replies politely. "What can I get for you?"

"A cup of coffee and something for the road would be nice," he says, and Niki turns to get started on the order. "Wait, Niki."

She pauses, still poised to flee. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry." Fundy shuffles his feet, biting his lip. "I should've come to check on you sooner. I just... Wanted to make sure you're holding up alright. With everything that went down..."

Niki knows he means Wilbur. He doesn't have to say it. "Wilbur tried to kill all of us, didn't he?" she asks softly, absently tracing shapes against the counter with her finger. "I don't... There was no Wilbur left in him. That wasn't the Wilbur I knew, that we knew."

"Yeah," Fundy echoes, a hint of forlorn in his tone. "That wasn't... That wasn't him, was it? He wasn't... He wasn't thinking straight. He would never hurt us. Right...?"

It's then that Niki thinks maybe he's the one in need of comfort. "Right," she agrees, though deep down, she's not sure if it's the truth.

"Have you seen Tommy at all?" Fundy changes the subject, clearing his throat.

"Tommy? No," she frowns. "He's not allowed visitors. Why, have you not seen him? I figured you must've, since you're part of the cabinet."

"No," he replies, shaking his head. "I think Quackity and Tubbo are the only ones."

"That's strange." Niki's brows furrow as she turns over this new information in her head. "What did they tell you? When- if- you asked?"

"They just said he's too dangerous."

"He's a _kid_ ," Niki says, unable to keep the aggravation out of her voice. Because _god_ , this is bothering her, all the dancing around and secrecy, all the strangeness and distance. 

"A kid who tried to blow up Manberg," Fundy replies, but he sounds doubtful.

"He wasn't doing okay, when I saw him at the festival. I think it broke him." Niki squares her shoulders, bracing herself. Maybe it's not a good idea to be speaking like this in front of a member of Quackity's cabinet, but she's so tired of this. "I don't think he'd ever try to do something like this. Kill Schlatt, maybe. But he would never hurt our country. He loved us too much."

"I dunno." Fundy gives a short shrug in response, rubbing his temples. "He was alone with Wilbur and Techno for a while, right? The people you hang around have influence. He could've easily been manipulated."

"All the more reason why we have to talk to him!" Niki exclaims, slamming her fists down on the counter in a sudden burst of passion. "He's hurting! He's not in the right frame of mind! The solution isn't locking him in prison, it's getting him help!"

"Not much we can do about that unless our president changes his mind."

Niki steadies herself with a long breath, letting the familiar smells of freshly baked bread and brewing coffee calm her. "I know Quackity just wants to keep us safe," she says, "But he's too worried about us and not worried enough about Tommy. I have to do something, Fundy."

"I know." Fundy offers her a small, wavering smile. "I've always admired you for that, Niki. No matter what, you always hold onto what you believe in. That's... not something I'm very good at."

She thinks of the burning flag, the bright fires lighting the sky and washing her with their dangerous glow, the tears washing her face as she realizes just how far L'manberg had fallen. Then she looks into Fundy's black beady eyes and sees the hurt, the pain, the regret in them. 

Niki smiles back. "Let me get you that coffee, Fundy. On the house."

She has Eret take her shift the day she approaches the White House, not bothering to schedule a meeting. She knows her friends will make time for her somehow, and besides, this is going to be quick. Finding the door labeled as _vice president_ , she knocks against it, letting her newfound determination carry her forward. She's stood back too long, but no longer.

"Quackity? Is that you?" Tubbo's voice calls from inside.

"No, it's Niki," she answers.

"Oh!" his tone instantly changes, brightening into something more cheerful. "Come in, door's unlocked."

She wraps her shaking fingers around the doorknob and pushes it open. Suddenly, she feels nervous, though she's not sure why. Tubbo's her friend, she doesn't have anything to fear from him. Still, as she enters, her heart races out of her control.

"Take a seat," Tubbo says with a wide grin. He's sitting behind his desk, a few stacks of paperwork discarded messily before him. "What's going on? Usually I'm the one visiting you," he jokes.

Niki stays standing, positioned behind one of the chairs across from him. Time to cut to the chase. "Tubbo, I want to see Tommy."

A frown stretches across his face. "Niki, I've already told you, you can't."

"I'm not going to take no for an answer," she replies firmly.

Something new flickers in his eyes, and he falls silent for a long moment, staring at her with a strange expression. Niki tries not to fidget under the scrutinizing gaze, though she feels oddly like her skin is on fire. At last, he says in a tone that he's never spoken to her with before, "Well you're going to have to, because you're not in charge around here."

"What?" Niki's taken aback by the harsh statement. "Tubbo, he was our _friend_. He's just a kid, like you! He needs help, not isolation. I know you say it's dangerous, but I don't need protection. I can handle it-"

"Niki." Tubbo cuts her off, voice dangerously dark. "If you step foot anywhere near that prison, you'll be arrested on the grounds of conspiracy against the government."

Niki is so shocked, she loses every defense she had prepared, words dying in her throat. "...so you're going to throw me in jail too?" is all she manages to say.

"No! No, Niki-" Tubbo quickly stammers, eyes widening. Then he groans, dragging a hand through his messy hair. "God. I just-"

"Tubbo, please, just talk to me!" Niki cries, gesturing wildly with her hands. "What's going on? This is scary! I'm _scared!_ What's happening with you?"

"Nothing! Nothing is going on!"

"I'm not stupid! Why won't you let me see him? Why are you acting like this?!"

"Niki, just listen to me!" Tubbo shouts, clutching his head in his hands. "Stop it! Stop being so difficult! Things are _good_ now, things are going well, why can't you just- just-"

"This is what you call good?!" Niki exclaims. "Look at yourself! Look at Quackity! You're both suffering, and I don't know what's wrong!"

"Nothing's wrong!"

Niki sucks in a deep breath, looking him in the eyes. "I don't believe that for a second. I'm sorry for disturbing you, you're probably busy. I'll just go now."

"Wait, Niki-" Alarm flashes across his face, and he reaches out a frantic hand toward her.

But Niki's not going to let herself be pushed around, not even by a friend. She turns her back and walks out the door, leaving the vice to whatever he'd been doing before this.

None of this is right. The Tubbo she'd spoken to in that office was not the Tubbo she was used to, the Tubbo who stopped by her bakery with a happy hello, the Tubbo who was her friend. She doesn't know what to think about this Tubbo, and it scares her. This is so much worse than she'd thought it was, and only now is she starting to realize she may have been blinded by her own emotions to the truth.

Now what is she supposed to do? Does she go to Quackity? Fundy again? No, this is something she has to do herself. It's time to take matters into her own hands, to be someone the old Wilbur would've been proud of.

 _I'll do it for you, Wil_ , she thinks forlornly, an aching pain seizing her heart at the thought of the man who had once been a close friend. _You wouldn't leave him there, would you? So I won't either._

Niki pays a visit to Sam, who supplies her the requested potions without asking questions. It's under both the cover of night and her invisibility potion that she makes her move, sneaking out along the moonlit path toward Manberg's prison. She doesn't allow herself any room for doubts, any room for fears. Right now, it's just her and her mission and the moon, and whatever truth is waiting for her inside that cell. She has to know. She can't go on without knowing.

She slips past the guard rotation without much trouble. She's good at keeping quiet, good at being invisible, even without magical help. Still, it's almost surprising how easy it is to break into prison, though she figures it's probably because there's no one who'd want to. The entire country thinks Tommy is a terrorist, and their new president has ordered him locked off. 

Down the stairs she goes, footsteps light and careful. Her heart catches in her throat as she nears the bottom floor, and she barely dares to breathe. The dim lighting of the single lantern hanging from the ceiling does little to illuminate the thick iron bars, and she can barely make out the figure huddled inside.

Her invisibility potion begins to flicker out, and she breathes, "Tommy?"

Immediately, his head whips up, and he sits up straight, backing against the wall. "Who's there?" he gasps out.

"Shh, keep it down!" she hisses, holding up her hands despite the still lingering potion effects. "It's Niki."

"Niki?" At the name, Tommy immediately starts forward, dragging himself across the ground. He grips the bars so hard his knuckles turn white, staring out at her. "Niki?" he says again, voice trembling. "W-where... where......"

She doesn't care about anything else in that moment. Just the broken sound of his voice is enough to activate her protective instincts, and she crouches down in front of him, grabbing his hands and squeezing them. "I'm right here, Tommy, I'm right here," she whispers, and at her touch, he begins to sob.

"Niki," he chokes out, a shudder wracking his body. "Niki, Niki-"

"It's okay, I'm right here," she murmurs, running her thumb gently along the back of his hands. "Stay quiet, alright? I'm not supposed to be here."

"You- you came," he says in disbelief. "You came. Tubbo- Tubbo said you wouldn't, he said-"

"What did he say?" she frowns urgently.

"Why can't I see you? Is this a trick? Are you really here?"

"Invisibility potion. It should wear off any moment," she soothes him. "Tommy, please, I don't know how much time I have. What's going on? They wouldn't let me visit. They told me you tried to blow up Manberg, they said you killed Schlatt-"

"I didn't, I didn't," he frantically stammers. "I didn't do... I didn't..." But he chokes up again, his grip on the bars tightening. Then he gasps, eyes widening. "Niki! Niki, you're-"

She assumes that reaction means the potion's over and done with, so she gives him a watery smile. "Right here."

"Niki, get away from him," someone snaps from behind, and Tommy's eyes go wide. "He's dangerous."

Niki whirls around to see Tubbo standing at the bottom of the stairs, sword in hand. Right on his heels is Quackity, who glances nervously back and forth between them.

"I'm not stupid either, Niki," Tubbo says with a grin, taking a step toward her. "I thought you'd come here."

"How-" she instinctively steps back, pressed against the bars.

Tommy grabs her arm, holding onto it for dear life. "Niki, he's crazy! Niki, get me out-"

"Niki, please step away," Quackity says calmly, holding up his hands in a passive manner. "You know it's off limits here."

"I had to see him," she replies, refusing to back down. "You can't keep him locked away like this!"

"Actually, we can," Tubbo snorts. "We're in charge here, not you. And he's a terrorist, in case you've forgotten."

"He did it!" Tommy shouts, nails digging harshly into Niki's arm. "He moved the bombs, he killed Wilbur, he killed Schlatt! Then he pinned it on me, and-"

"Oh, shut up, Tommy." Tubbo simply rolls his eyes. "You really think she's dumb enough to buy any of that bullshit? _I_ killed Wilbur? Wilbur planted the bombs, he detonated them, he killed himself. How the hell was that my fault?"

"You-"

"And you killed Schlatt in revenge, for whatever reason," Tubbo continues, stepping closer once more. 

"Niki, you can't listen to him!" Tommy pleads desperately, and Niki spares him a quick glance. Her heart is pounding so wildly, she feels like it's about to explode. Every word from Tommy's mouth sends a pang of horror through her like a knife stabbed through her gut, the story unravelling before her.

"He's lying," Tubbo says without missing a beat. "This is why we had to keep him locked away, Niki! Because he knows how to get to people, he thinks he can trick you into letting him out to do more damage. Do you really want a repeat of the festival, Niki?"

"What's going on?" she whispers, frozen in place. "Tubbo, did you-"

"Of course not!" the vice president cries. "Do you not hear how fucking ridiculous this is?! He's trying to take advantage of you! Get away before he tries to hurt you."

"Shut up!" Tommy screams, eyes burning with raw hatred. "You're the worst fucking person in the world! You killed Wilbur! You killed _Wilbur-!_ "

"I killed Schlatt!" Quackity bursts out, and the room falls dead silent, all parties seeming equally stunned.

"What?" Niki croaks out, the first to speak up.

"I killed Schlatt," Quackity repeats. "I'm sorry we lied to you, Niki. I just... You know what would've happened to me if anyone found out, right? But Schlatt wasn't a good president, and he needed to go. I did it for Manberg. And we needed someone to blame, and since Tommy had already decided to become a fucking terrorist... Well, it's just another crime to add on, right?"

Tommy stares at him in disbelief, then starts laughing, tears sliding down his cheeks. "He's still lying! Oh my god, that's good, that's real good, Big Q! Now she thinks... Oh god, here we go, that's good."

"He came into Schlatt's office after Wilbur detonated the bombs and tried to kill me and Tubbo," Quackity continues, ignoring the boy in the cell. "It was all part of their plan to take us all out, I guess. Schlatt was already dead by then, so I think it threw him off enough that we were able to overpower him."

Niki doesn't know what to believe anymore. Tubbo's fallen quiet, Tommy is still a horrifying mix between laughing and crying, and Quackity is watching her with an earnest gaze. _He_ had killed Schlatt? Quackity? Somehow, she doesn't think he's lying. This is one truth, at least, in a tangle of lies. 

"I'm sorry," Quackity says again, and he sounds like he means it. "But you know now, so... Well, I guess our fate is in your hands."

"Niki, he's wrong," Tommy says urgently. "He's trying to get you back on his side, you can't- you can't listen to him, Niki, please, just listen to _me_ -"

"Tommy," she asks quietly. "Did you know Wilbur was going to blow up L'manberg?"

He stops short, words faltering. "I- Well-"

"Did you?" she asks again, voice breaking despite her best attempts to stay composed.

"Yeah, I did," Tommy mutters, and she sucks in a short gasp. "But I didn't- I wasn't a part of it! I was trying to stop it, and Tubbo said he'd help me, but he tricked me-"

"If I knew there were going to be fucking _bombs_ under the stage, why the hell would I have gone up there?" Tubbo exclaims. "We would've disabled them beforehand."

"You said we needed to wait!"

"Why would I say that?!"

"Niki, please, you have to believe me," Tommy begs, staring up at her pleadingly.

Niki feels sick to her stomach, her entire world flipped upside down. Her head is spinning so fast, she can't sort out her thoughts at all. Carefully, she tugs herself away from Tommy, and he falls back onto the jail floor, mouth parted in surprise.

"You _knew_ ," is all she could say. "You knew what he was going to do, and you let him?"

"I didn't- No, I didn't, I didn't let him, I tried to stop him, a-and Tubbo said- and Tubbo-" Tommy rambles frantically, panic flashing in his eyes as he seems to realize he’s losing her. "Tubbo- TUBBO! It's was _Tubbo_ , he did it, he did it, it wasn't me, you have to-"

"He's crazy," Tubbo says sadly, hugging his arms against his chest. "I tried to warn you, Niki. I didn't want you to see him like this. But... I mean, look at him."

Tommy's hyperventilating now, clutching his head in his hands and mumbling Tubbo's name again and again. It's all nonsense, and it chokes Niki up, makes her unable to breathe. This can't be happening, but it _is_. Tommy had known. Tommy had let it happen. Tubbo had been right all along.

"I'm sorry." She holds a hand over her mouth, stepping back. "I shouldn't have come here. I just... I had to _know_."

"I get it," Quackity says, setting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I should've been honest with you from the start. God, I'm sorry."

"Can you help him? Can you do something?" she asks, eyes locked on Tommy's trembling form. 

"I want to," Quackity replies. "I've tried talking to him, but... Well, while he's like this, I don't know what we _can_ do. But I'll try."

"Niki, don't leave, please don't leave, don't-" Tommy sobs, reaching out a hand through the bars toward her.

Niki distantly registers she's crying too, hot tears she can't help sliding down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she says again. "We're going to help you, Tommy, I promise. Whatever Wilbur did to you, we'll fix it."

"It was Tubbo!" Tommy cries out again. "It was Tubbo, he did it-"

"We should probably go," Quackity interrupts, clearing his throat.

 _"Please,"_ Tommy pleads, hand still outstretched, eyes full of terror. "Don't go-"

"It's going to be okay, Tommy," she whispers. "I promise. Just hang in there."

_"DON'T LEAVE!"_

She allows Quackity to lead her back up the stairs, Tubbo following behind. Tommy's begging fades into the background, and as soon as they're outside in the crisp night air, she doubles over and throws up.

"I'm sorry," Quackity says again, silhouetted against the moonlight. "I thought lying would help, but it just made things worse. I'll never stop being sorry."

"It's okay," Niki murmurs, but it's not. She doesn't think she'll ever be able to erase the image of Tommy, broken and frantic and huddled against the ground, from her mind. Well, now she knew the truth, for better or for worse. She's not sure if it was worth it.

The next morning, Tubbo enters the bakery, smiling like last night had never happened. The warmth of the hearth does little to stop the chill that travels down Niki's spine at the sight of him, though, and as she slides his usual breakfast across the counter, the feeling of wrongness returns.


	5. George | through tinted windows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George comes to a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awkward cough. Hi. I'm alive. :P Geez, it's been almost a month since the last update. Oops. I don't really have much of an excuse besides very poor mental health and other various life things. I don't have any intention of abandoning this fic, though :D Things just might go a bit slower, I hope that's alright <3
> 
> This is a very disappointedly 'filler' chapter for the time it took to come out, but hopefully that isn't all too bad :P George is one of the only friends Quackity has in the cabinet besides Tubbo, so with everything happening I figured it's about time to take a look inside his head. To be honest, I don't watch much of George outside of the SMP and Manhunt videos, so it was a lot harder to try to nail down a personality for him. I hope it ended up alright :)
> 
> Also, there were a few people asking if this fic is going to have a plot like the first one, and I've been sort of on the fence. This is definitely more of a character based sequel than a continuation, as I did like the open ending the first one left, but there are a few numerous plot threads to be followed in this one! Not exactly a plot, but definitely a storyline of some sort. <3
> 
> Anyways, after that super long author's note, here's the chapter :D thank you all for your patience, and have a fantastic day!

The Manberg nights grow colder and colder with each passing day, the air around them chilling and the sun offering little warmth. Winter is fast approaching, and with it the promise of snowfall, warm cocoa, and festive holiday cheer.

George feels anything but festive, though. He draws his coat tighter around him, hunching his shoulders in on himself as he hurries up the hill. He's never liked the cold, much preferring the sunny summer days. Time has flown by too fast, and he can scarcely believe it's already been a month since the festival, when everything had gone so wrong. How had such a bright and cheerful event ended in disaster? His memories of the festival are mingled between celebration and terror- laughing with Quackity and Tubbo at the strength game, the screams of the crowd as the explosives set off, stuffing his face with pie as his friends cheered him on, the ringing in his ears and the way he couldn't quite suck breath into his lungs.

Things were different now, much different than when Schlatt reigned over the country. Quackity made for a good president; the guy was hardworking, dedicated, and loyal. Often, George saw the lights on in his office long after the sun had set. As for the former young secretary of state, he's the vice now, and seems to be doing alright for himself. George had half expected a responsibility like that to crush the boy, but Tubbo had stepped up to the challenge.

In this new cabinet, George didn't quite know what he was. He had been Quackity's running mate in the initial election, which should've left him the position of vice president, but that had fallen to Tubbo. Fundy was the secretary of state, which left George to float aimlessly around the White House, doing whatever tasks were given to him. Quackity would always reassure him that he was just as important as anyone else, but George doubts it. It's just another reminder that he doesn't really belong in this country, and he probably never would.

Manberg wasn't his land, and yet he was stuck here anyways. It's not that it's horrible here, it's actually quite nice. Everyone is friendly, especially now that Schlatt is dead, and he has his fun. But it's not  _ his _ , and that's the point. It'll never be his in the same way the Dream SMP had been, when he'd still lived alongside Dream and Sapnap. Now more than ever, it grows increasingly obvious just how much he misses his friends.

Besides, things had been weird since the festival. Rumors float around about the boy being held in isolated prison, locked off and banned from visitors. Tommy had never been George's ally, but the fate he'd been sentenced to still rubs him the wrong way. Terrorist or not, he's just a kid. George had never taken Quackity for the harsh punishment type, but lately he wonders just how much he really knows about the man he'd considered his friend.

Heaving a sigh, George cautiously draws his hand from his pocket, the biting wind immediately attacking it with fury. He curls his fingers around the doorknob and yanks, throwing it open before hurrying inside the White House. Hopefully, today's shitty weather wasn't a bad omen for what was to come.

He's running late for the meeting he'd scheduled, so he walks at a brisk pace toward the president's office, shoes clicking against the polished floors. The door is shut, and from inside, George can hear muffled voices. Well, one voice, to be more precise- one he identifies as Quackity's, sharp and grating.

"Can you just shut up for once in your life?! I've got a fucking cabinet to run, and I didn't ask for your advice!"

Furrowing his brows, George quickly pushes the door open, hoping to intersect before a fight broke out. However, to his surprise, he instead finds Quackity alone in the office, staring at him with a shell shocked expression.

"Oh," George says awkwardly, glancing between the president and the rest of the room. "...sorry for bursting in. I thought I heard..."

"I was just talking to myself," Quackity hurried out, waving a dismissive hand. "Everything's fine. About time you showed up, though, I was beginning to think you slept in again."

George snorts at the jibe, gently shutting the door behind him and strolling over to take a seat across the desk. "You need to get more creative with your jokes. That's the only one you have on me."

The president grins in reply, though it seems a bit strained. He folds his hands on the desk, shifting his position. "How can I help you, George? You said you wanted to talk?"

"Yeah." George pauses, clearing his throat. He's been planning this interaction in his head for some time now, but now that he's actually here, he feels his words die on his tongue. "Uh... I'm quitting, Quackity."

Quackity doesn't answer at first, just looks at him. After a few moments, though, he exclaims, "You're what?!"

George winces. Of course this wouldn't go over well. "Look, I know I've been with you since the start, but I feel like my time here is up. Things have been weird since the festival. I mean, they've been good! You're a great president, man. They're just... weird for me. There's nothing really here for me."

"...oh," Quackity replies. He bites his lip, then says, "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way. But if you think it's best, then I won't keep you here."

George nearly breathes a sigh of relief, shoulders relaxing. "Thanks for understanding. I hope this doesn't make things... awkward or anything."

"Pfft, of course not," Quackity scoffs with a playful eye roll. "You'll always be my gorgeous friend George."

A grin flickers across George's face. "If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to reach out. I doubt you will, though, you've been handling this all fantastically."

"I wouldn't say that." Quackity fiddles with his fingers, biting his lip, and George gets the feeling he said something wrong. "...do you think Schlatt did a better job? At this whole president thing, I mean. Morals aside."

"Well... Schlatt was a strange man," George answers carefully. "Politics and business... That was sorta his thing, you know? You're newer at it. I don't think it's something to beat yourself up over. I mean, you're doing great for your experience. You can't really compare yourself to someone like him."

"I guess." Quackity doesn't sound convinced, though, and there's a strange haunted look in his eyes. "Heh. You were smart to quit while you're ahead, George. I think I'm a bit in over my head."

The conversation has much evolved from the original topic, but George doesn't mind. It's been a while since he's been able to chat with Quackity like this; the president is usually always holed up in his office, unavailable. "To be fair, you were forced into this under very weird circumstances," he says. "I don't think it would be easy for anyone."

"Wait, let me guess," Quackity sighs, holding up a hand. "Are you going to ask me if you can visit Tommy?"

"Huh?" George blinks in surprise.

"Oh. My bad. Usually when people steer toward the topic of the festival, they end up asking about Tommy."

"I mean, that's none of my business." George shrugs. "I am a bit curious about what you're planning to do with him, though. Are you going to keep him locked up forever?"

"...I don't know. God." Quackity puts his head in his hands, and once again George feels like he's definitely pushed at the wrong buttons. "It's all so fucking...  _ hard _ . Kid's a- well, he's a terrorist, and he killed the president, but he's still a kid! I feel awful. Why do I feel awful? This was always the plan, I just..." he lapses into silence. "...I don't know what to do. There are so many things I don't know, and I just feel so fucking lost. This was all I ever wanted, but now I just don't know."

"...sorry, man," George says hesitantly, unsure what to make of that sudden rant. "That sounds rough."

Quackity slowly recomposes himself, folding his hands on the desk once more and straightening his posture. "God, sorry, I didn't mean to dump all that on you." He gives a dry laugh. "I haven't really had the chance to just... talk to someone about this stuff. Maybe I should invest in a therapist."

"I'll be sure to bring it up at the next budget meeting," George quips, then remembers he's just quit. "You're real close with Tubbo though, aren't you? Maybe you should talk to him. He would probably understand a lot better than anyone else."

"...Tubbo. Right." The president's voice takes on an odd tone. "Maybe I should."

"You two in a rough patch?" George frowns, and Quackity sharply glances up at him as if startled. "Oh, sorry, didn't mean to pry."

"No, we're fine," Quackity replies, a little too hurriedly. "I'm just... busy. We haven't had much time to spend together."

"Maybe you should take a break, then," he suggests. "Enjoy the few days left before winter."

His friend snorts, though there's no humor in it. "God, I wish I could."

"Well, why can't you?"

"There's work to be done, George. I'm the president now, I can't sit back and relax. I have a nation to run."

There's an endless exhaustion in Quackity's words, the kind that eats men alive from the inside out and leaves empty husks behind. Looking at the president now, George mentally kicks himself for not realizing sooner just how bad things really were. Watching from afar through tinted windows, he'd barely been able to notice the subtle shift in the cabinet, in Manberg, in Quackity. George suddenly finds himself torn between relief that he decided to abandon ship, and guilt that he was leaving behind his friend to drown.

"Maybe you're just not cut out for this, Quackity," he says gently, trying to carefully pry the burden from his shoulders and allow him to escape.

The atmosphere changes almost instantly. Quackity snaps to attention, drawing himself up as anger flashes in his eyes. "Shut the fuck up!" he snarls, and George is taken aback by the ferocity in which he speaks. "I'm sick and tired of all your bullshit! Just fucking  _ go away!" _

George stares at him, mouth agape, and Quackity stares right back. His chest is heaving, his gaze frantic- he looks like he's seen a ghost. Then his eyes go wide with horror, and he stammers out, "I- That's you. You're George. You're not..."

"That's my name, yes," George replies, because he's too stunned to say anything else.

"I'm... No, that's... I wasn't saying that to you. I was... It was for  _ him _ . He won't- fuck." Quackity abruptly pushes himself out of his seat, wildly glancing between George and the window overlooking the country below. "...shit, I'm sorry," he says, swallowing hard. "Maybe you're right. I might... need a break."

"Well, I can certainly see that." George clears his throat, unsure what the hell he's supposed to do now. "Get some sleep, man. You're clearly not well."

The president doesn't even bother protesting. There's a new look of defeat in his eyes, so vastly different from the rage from only moments before. "Yeah," he echoes quietly. "I guess I'm really not so cut out for this, am I?"

George winces. "I didn't mean it like  _ that _ . I'm just worried about you."

"No, it's fine. You're right, anyways."

"...I should probably be off, then." George stands slowly, almost scared he might spook his friend with any sudden movement. "Thanks for being so understanding about everything, and I hope things go better. And really, you should probably talk to someone. There's no shame in admitting you're not doing good, y'know."

"Thanks, George." Quackity offers him a clearly strained smile. "Don't even mention it. And... thanks. Maybe I will."

"And if you ever need anything, I'm just a call away," George adds. "You know that, right? I've always got your back."

"Sure, unless you're sleeping," Quackity teases, and George groans. "Thanks, man. I really appreciate it."

"I'll see you around, then."

"Pff, I better. Hey, stay warm."

George raises a hand in farewell as he exits the office, closing the door behind him. Well, that's the end of that, he figures. It's time to pack up and take his leave. ...leave where, exactly? Would Dream even accept him back, with open arms and a kind smile behind the war-battered mask?  _ Of course he will,  _ he scolds himself as he starts off down the hall. They're friends, no matter what alliances George had chosen.

Part of him wonders why he even ran with Quackity for president in the first place. It doesn't do much good to think about that now.

He expects the White House to be as empty as it had been when he'd arrived, but to his surprise, he bumps into Tubbo on his way to the exit. The boy is clutching two mugs of hot, steaming coffee in his hands, and his eyes widen slightly as he spots the other man.

"G'morning," George says politely. "That looks real good right about now," he adds, nodding to the coffee.

"Oh, hey," Tubbo responds, and his shoulders relax. "Yeah, pretty cold day, isn't it? I was just bringing one of these to Quackity. O-oh, did you want the other?" he quickly offers, extending it out. "I can make myself a new one."

"Nah, I'm about to head out, but thanks." George grins, then remembers that Tubbo doesn't know yet. "Oh, right. I sorta... resigned today."

"You did?" Tubbo echoes in shock, and his brows knit together in confusion. "Wh... Why would you do that?"

It's not an accusing statement; he sounds genuinely curious, though there's a different underlying tone that George can't quite place. "Uh... long story short, I just don't think there's much left for me here," he says with a shrug. "So I'm done."

"...right." Tubbo shakes himself a bit, then gives a warm smile. "Well, I'm sorry to see you go, but whatever's best for you, right?"

"Yeah." George hesitates, then says before he can regret it, "Uh, I dunno much about your whole situation, but you might wanna check up on Quackity. Or like... force him to take a week off."

A shadow crosses Tubbo's face for a brief second, then fades away. "Believe me, I've been trying," he says bitterly. "He doesn't want to hear it."

"Oh. Well, alright. Take care, then."

"You too!" Tubbo raises a hand, which causes drops of coffee to splash out onto his white button-up beneath the suit jacket. He looks panicked for a moment, then laughs, shaking his head. "Ah, geez, I keep forgetting Schlatt isn't around anymore."

George decides to take that as his cue to leave before another political official decides to overshare with him.

Finally alone outside, he takes a minute to look back at the White House, despite the biting wind stinging his cheeks without mercy. It's going to be weird leaving this all behind; the cabinet meetings and lunch breaks and long office hours. Weird in a good way, though. He's never really belonged here. This life just isn't for him.

Whatever's wrong with his friends, there's nothing he can do for them now besides let them know he'll always be in their corner. Beyond that, it's time to move on. This isn't his fight anymore, not his country to worry about anymore.

God, it really is cold. He hopes Tommy has some way of keeping warm in prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO also, I feel sort of bad just dipping for a month without any real way of being able to talk abt updates or what's going on, so I made a Twitter just for fun :D it's @feralratdad if anyone's interested, I'll probably be chatting about my fics and posting art. I love interacting with you guys, so I hope maybe I'll get to do it more there <3


End file.
